


Dance Me to the End of Love

by Pluppelina



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Begging, Cheating, Humiliation kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Play, Violence, mentions of prostituion, puppy play if you squint, slight dub-con, submissive!Sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1213318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pluppelina/pseuds/Pluppelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sebastian leaves the prostitute in the dingy hotel room, he's certain he's gotten away with it. Once back home, he's not so sure any more. To Jim, there was never any doubt about how the evening would end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Me to the End of Love

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to my kind beta, who helped me improve this so much.

The door has barely closed behind him before he realises that something is wrong. There’s a light on in the living room when there shouldn’t be. He should be alone here for another three days, but the door didn’t show any signs of forced entry. There’s only one other person with the keys to this place and that person’s supposed to be on the other side of the Atlantic ocean. It can’t be that he’s there already - but before Sebastian’s even taken a step towards investigating, it’s made clear him that he’s miscalculated entirely. 

“Did you think you could get away with it, Sebastian?”

The words are ice and stone in the darkness and Sebastian freezes up in the hallway, just as surely as if he’d felt a cold hand on the back of his neck. He had thought he’d get away with it, in actual fact, had thought that Jim was out of the country. He’d thought, really, it couldn’t hurt. Besides, he’d ached so badly for a woman’s gentle touch to contrast his boss’s harsh force that, on some level, it’d be worth a punishment even if there was one coming. It’s entirely possible that Jim isn’t even sure he’s actually done something, after all. Sebastian knows that he’s fucked up all right, but he also knows that his boss can get away with a lot because of his reputation. Faking intel he doesn’t have wouldn’t be that off, not for Jim. So, once Sebastian’s gotten back in control of himself, he merely nods and hangs up his jacket.

“Get away with what?” he asks, stepping into the living room, stepping towards the chair in which Jim is sitting, lit up with a single spotlight, a perfect cliché but for the book in his hands. He hasn’t been sitting here, plotting revenge; he’s been sitting here, reading for pleasure. He’d already finished his planning when Sebastian came home, then. That has got to be a bad sign; if Jim wants to punish him, he’ll do so, no matter what Sebastian has to say for himself. Fake intel or not might not matter any more.

As Jim puts his book away Sebastian leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and meets Jim’s eyes with his best poker face on. He’s guilty, yeah, as guilty as anyone could be, but he doesn’t need to make it obvious. His best shot at getting out of this in one piece is still complete denial, no matter how little he actually believes it’s going to work any more. 

Jim clears his throat. “Well, it’s obvious what you did, isn’t it?” he says, still so calm, so very calm despite the underlying tension, and Sebastian forces himself to breathe in some of that calm, to try and quench the smoldering panic inside of him that threatens to explode any minute now. Any minute, but not this one. Their eyes lock, and gooseflesh breaks out over the back of Sebastian’s neck. Perhaps the idea of denial really is down the drain, now. Jim smirks. “You didn’t even bother washing off the lipstick.”

“Sir,” he says, clenching his jaw, holding his chin up high and, without thinking about it, shifts away from the wall so that he’s standing at attention. It’s a reflexive move, acted out without thought. It’s what he does when he’s supposed to be ready, and calm, and taking great big breaths of air that only seem to be making him more lightheaded when what he so desperately needs is a grip, a focus, and both feet planted firmly on mother earth. What he needs is a good excuse; what he needs is a way out of this situation. What he finds is nothing but a subconscious drive to obey orders.

“Better,” Jim praises, voice still deadly cold, and he actually rises from the chair. He only needs to take one step over in order to be right up in Sebastian’s personal space and he does, tilting Sebastian’s head back further to inspect the lipstick smudges underneath his chin. Jim drags a thumb over them, and strangely, he doesn’t show any disgust, only disapproval. He clicks his tongue. Something isn’t quite adding up. 

“A prostitute, Sebastian? Really? I thought you had a bit more class than that.” Still tutting softly, as if to himself, Jim takes a step back. His eyes never leave Sebastian’s face. “Let’s see what that evil woman has done to you then, shall we? Strip.” 

Sebastian hesitates. The order is familiar and Jim’s casual behaviour in combination with that almost - almost - makes Sebastian relax. It’s only the knowledge that it’d be a bad idea to do so, like relaxing when a shark’s gotten your scent, that keeps him from falling back into easy routine. He knows now that keeping his story straight isn’t an option, that he’s been made, so he decides to buy himself some time by doing as he’s told. Some part of him rejoices; Jim’s been away, and having him back early is, after all, good. 

He’s still tense when he pulls his clothes off - his shoes, socks and jeans; his hoodie, t-shirt and pants. Jim stands by, silently watching as Sebastian sheds layer after layer, as he slowly and neatly folds the garments and puts them on the floor beside his feet. Something tells him he won’t need them any time soon, but it still feels better to have them close at hand, just in case, as though it’d make escape a more likely option. It’s not, though. Escape gets crossed off the list along with denial, and what does that leave, exactly? Giving in.

Almost as though Jim could read his mind, the first thing he does is kick the orderly pile of clothes flying through the room, landing a scattered few feet away in a mess. The message is clear and Sebastian’s jaw clenches all the way back up again, so he’s grateful when he isn’t spoken to just yet, when he’s only subjected to Jim’s scrutinizing eyes. It’s hard for him to tell whether it’s his nudity, the temperature of the room or the menacing eyes that have him wanting to shiver, but he suppresses it the best he can. Now isn’t the time to show how affected he really is.

Jim walks all the way around him, slowly, occasionally stopping to touch some of the places she touched, to smooth one gentle finger down the path where she’d dug her nails in as he slammed into her, to run the pad of his thumb over a little love bite at his shoulder. Then Jim is in front of him again, and Sebastian thinks they’re done now, that he’ll be ordered to shower and sleep and they’ll see each other in the morning, but that doesn’t happen. Jim doesn’t even linger for long enough to make eye contact. Instead, he pulls his belt from his trousers, and goes around behind Sebastian’s back once more - all while Sebastian stands still and takes it, deep breaths, and wonders what the hell is going on.

For one irrational moment, Sebastian thinks that Jim is going to whip him for what he did, that he’ll let loose without warning or consent, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes Sebastian’s hands and wraps the belt almost lovingly, gently, around his wrists. “Sir,” Sebastian says, and it’s a prompt for an explanation which doesn’t come. Instead, Jim continues to tie him up, hands safely behind his back. It takes another moment for the penny to drop on its own, but finally, it does. They’re playing with each other. Somehow, that makes Sebastian feel even more vulnerable in this situation and his balls almost twitch with the phantom pain Jim could so easily inflict on them. He’s still standing there with his legs spread, and Jim is wearing his expensive handmade shoes, the ones with soles as hard as rock - something Sebastian knows, because he’s been made to lick them clean before. 

Nothing happens. No foot comes up between his legs and Sebastian shifts, tests the restraints, finds their boundaries and to some extent the safety he always feels when he’s confined. It’s a little bit like this is just another Friday night in their flat, and the idea is enough to relax Sebastian right into acceptance. What will come will come. His shoulders lower and a moment after he gets a kick to the back of his left knee. The motion upsets his balance and sends him crashing forward, landing painfully on his knees. The pain shooting up from the impact point all the way to his hips is nothing new, nothing compared to what Jim could do, and Sebastian can handle it. He can deal with this; perhaps he can even find comfort in it. 

As Jim comes around to face him once more, Sebastian finally feels a little relief on top of all the anxiety and tension - tension, which is quickly slipping now that Jim’s smiling a sadistic little smile down towards him. If his intention had really been to hurt or to punish, he wouldn’t be smiling at all. He really just wants to play. After the woman’s gentle touch, his boss’ games are welcome again. He’s had his palate cleanser; now bring on the next course. 

“You must’ve been so desperate for cunt,” Jim remarks coldly, reaching out to touch lips that were, not two hours ago, buried in between a pair of anonymous legs. Sebastian kisses Jim’s fingers, but the man ignores him and goes on, “So desperate to taste it, hm? So desperate to fuck it. I bet that, between you and the whore, you were the one who begged for it.” 

It isn’t very close to what actually happened, which is further proof that Jim isn’t being serious. Normally, Jim can see everything on him when he’s inspected like this, read the truth as if it had been written on Sebastian’s skin. The truth, in this case, is a different one. The prostitute hadn’t even batted an eye at him, had only accepted his money in advance and proceeded to do what was expected of her. Sure, he’d fucked her so hard she had to hang on to him with tooth and nail to not hit her head against the wall, but the woman had moaned like the cliché demanded she did. Jim knows this, of course Jim knows this, because Jim knows what he likes - but he also knows how Sebastian likes to be talked down to, especially when the man in the suit reaches out to get a painful grip of the hair on Sebastian’s head. He meets Jim’s eyes willingly. 

“You’re always begging for it, aren’t you, Sebastian? Or perhaps you prefer Colonel Moran. Big, bad murderer you are, Colonel Moran, on your knees, begging for prostitute pussy. I bet she thought you were so disgusting not even all the money in that big, fat wallet of yours could convince her on its own.” 

Against all reason and perfectly in line with what always happens, Sebastian feels his blood race through his veins, pooling in his cock as he swallows and tries to find some reply. There’s nothing to say. His body must speak plenty for him; Jim must see him growing hard, must see him blush. 

“I’m sorry,” he manages, finally, meeting Jim’s eye. He can play his part as well as Jim can play his. He smirks, matching the playfulness he sees in Jim’s face. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

There comes another kick, this time to his belly. He doesn’t see it coming, doesn’t even have the time to tense up in preparation for an attack, so it knocks the wind out of him entirely, has him bent over double and gasping for breath. Jim knows what he’s doing and obviously he doesn’t enjoy being mocked even when he’s mocking, a point he makes very clearly by following up with a knee to Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian actually whimpers in pain as he feels his lip split and he’s still surprised when he sees the blood falling onto the floor in between his knees. He doesn’t get to look at it for long before Jim’s yanking his head back up. The grip is tight again and the pain that’s pulsating in his entire jaw spreads viciously up to his scalp as well. By then, he’s shamelessly leaking pre-come. 

“Will you show me how you begged, Sebastian?” comes the casual demand, spoken as though he wasn’t bleeding on the both of them, “Or am I going to have to hurt you some more to hear that sweet voice of yours?” 

Jim is serious in his request, that much is written across the way his mouth twists and the dark light in his eyes. Sebastian’s mouth tastes like blood and he wishes he could spit, wishes he could make sure that he isn’t missing any of his throbbing teeth, throbbing just as his erection throbs. Instead of doing any of that he finds himself responding, reacting in a perfectly Pavlovian fashion by telling Jim, “please,” before he can even work up the intent for any other action.

“Please, Sir,” he repeats, eyes wide, turned up towards Jim, “please, let me taste you.”

There’s a backhand slap, then, knuckles colliding with his bleeding, hurting mouth, and he swallows another mouthful of saliva and blood. The motion pulls painfully on his molars.

“Did you call her Sir, Sebastian?” Jim wants to know, all sharp consonants and method acting. Jim hasn’t once lost control of himself in this entire time, and Sebastian, feeling like he’s taken enough abuse now, decides to play by the rules. He shakes his head slowly. No. No, he had not called her Sir. He tries again, doesn’t leave any room for Jim to ask him to, doesn’t want to have to be asked. He can be a good boy, too, and tell Master what he wants to hear.. 

“I told her, I’d die if she wouldn’t let me eat her out. I told her, I needed to taste her cunt more than I needed air. I asked her not to look at me, asked her to pretend I wasn’t there.” Whether this is going too far or not, he’s so aroused by the humiliation in having to say it that it doesn’t matter it’s all lies. When he looks up into Jim’s face, Jim seems rather content, too. “I wanted her to be indifferent to me.” 

He can imagine it well enough, the way it would’ve felt, getting to do as he liked with her body while she was barely paying attention to it. If there had been a telly in the dingy little bedroom where he’d had her, he would’ve asked her to turn it on, would’ve asked her to watch it instead of him, like he was just an annoying puppy humping her leg. Maybe next time.

“I bet she was disgusted,” Jim tells Sebastian. It feels like a caress. “I bet she hated lying there underneath someone as filthy and perverted as you. No one in their right mind would ever fuck you, Sebastian, not even like this. Just look at you - hard from any little bit of attention.” Jim’s seen, then, seen how hard this really makes Sebastian. He wonders if it’s in the plan that he gets to come, but before he can follow that train of thought any further, the hard rubber sole of Jim’s left shoe is stroking slowly up his aching cock. Sebastian moans as it moves back down again and Jim tells him, “Honestly, I can’t let you near people.” The foot comes to rest just above his balls, and he breathes in hard and sharp. He isn’t even sure if he wants to be hurt more or not; he can’t quite remember how he feels about it. He just nods, and tugs on the belt to feel those safe boundaries again, and revels in Jim’s homecoming.

“No, Sir,” he agrees, looking up at Jim with worship in his eyes. How can he not? “No, Sir, you can’t. I’m too out of control for that.”

This seems to please his Master at least somewhat, as Jim agrees with a soft hum and allows him another quick up and down with the sole before he removes it entirely, planting both feet firmly on the ground instead. “I bet you’d hump my leg right now if you weren’t so frightened. We’re going to have to housebreak you, darling.”

Now the full-body shiver that’s been threatening to break out finally takes him over, runs down his spine and makes him lean forward, boldly pressing his face against his boss’s crotch. He wants Jim and he wants him now, right now. Apparently that isn’t in Jim’s plan either, because all the initiative does is earn Sebastian another bruise, a knee to the ribs this time. Point taken and hands instinctively, uselessly moving to protect himself, Sebastian pulls back and sits on his heels. Jim makes a pleased little noise at that and reaches down to undo his fly. Sebastian feels like a dog begging at the table, and it isn’t an entirely unpleasant thing. He only wishes he was closer Jim. 

“See what I mean?” Jim asks, pausing with the zipper halfway down. “You can’t even behave yourself for five minutes at a time. Do you really think you deserve to suck my cock, after what you’ve done? Do you really think your filthy little whore-loving mouth hole deserves my cock?” 

Unsure of the right answer, Sebastian only whines, further indulging in the metaphor. He wants it, wants it so badly, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say yes or if they’re still pretending that he has actually hurt Jim. He can’t say no either though, can’t admit that he isn’t worthy because then Jim can send him off without another word, let him go tease his loose teeth with his tongue to get himself off. He doesn’t want that; he wants Jim, so very badly. Instead of replying, he simply watches Jim with his pleading eyes and hopes that he’s done teasing. What else can he do? 

Jim chuckles and cocks his head, but doesn’t reach out to touch Sebastian this time, not even to pull his hair. The zipper opens completely. “Go on then,” Jim says, clearly amused. “Beg, just like you want to. Tell me that you need my come more than you need oxygen, darling. Let’s hear your pretty little words.”

Another whimper, a moan, and then; “Please, Sir, please let me suck you, please let me please you. I won’t disappoint you again, I promise, I won’t, just let me suck you, please.”

Another hard slap shuts him up, to the other side of his face this time, and coupled as it is with a “shush now”, Sebastian can’t even tell if yet another harsh blow to the head means no, or if all Jim wanted was to further indulge his sadistic tendencies. If Sebastian had had a tail, it would’ve curled up between his legs. His tongue moves quickly through his mouth to see that nothing’s been knocked loose. It hasn’t. 

Before he gets out another word, before the plea for another attempt can become more than intent, he’s got Jim’s cock in his mouth regardless. All of his excuses turn into a moan as Sebastian, so grateful to feel so at home, hollows his mouth to suck Jim as hard and as well as he can. His lip still hurts and his teeth protest painfully at the suction, but that only works to make him harder, more desperate, more eager to please. He knows he should take it slower, knows that Jim isn’t even fully hard yet, but he wants this too much to slow down now. He needs Jim’s orgasm more than oxygen, he does, and it shows from the way he barely remembers to breathe. Just as long as he can make Jim come, he’ll be fine. Just as long as he can please his Master, he’ll get his reward.

His eyes water as he takes Jim deeper down his throat than he really ought to, as breathing becomes all but impossible for long intervals at a time. His whole world seems to narrow down to his mouth and his cock, his aching cock, and the way it’s suddenly pressed right up against designer fabric. The shame of it all, of doing just what Jim had told him before and rubbing himself against the man’s shin like that, only works to make the whole situation even better. Sebastian loses himself in the moment, in the mingled salty, metallic tastes in his mouth and the limited pleasure on his cock. It’s all he needs, that, and Jim’s hands get a steady grip on his head just a moment before the man himself groans, “now,” letting Sebastian have the orgasm that he’s been trained to experience in just the right moment. 

He swallows even as he comes, relaxes his jaw and lips the same way he relaxes everything else as the tension of being caught finally leaves him. His head is still spinning and perhaps that’s why he, on some level, feels like this means that he’s forgiven. On another level, he remains as certain as ever that this would never have happened if Jim had been truly mad at him. Because of that, it’s easy to enjoy it when his Master stays in his mouth for another little while to allow Sebastian to lick gently at his sensitive cock, like a good boy should. 

After a final, affectionate pat on the head, Jim steps back to once more sit down in his arm chair. Most of Sebastian’s mess is on Jim’s trousers and there’s blood on him too, from where his lip has split, and even more of it on Jim’s balls. Fighting the urge to lick that up, too, all of that, occupies his mind until the orgasm fades away completely. By then he can feel, very acutely, just how much he actually hurts - not that it makes much of a difference. He stays in the same headspace as before while Jim takes his time, basking in the afterglow, eyes closed and a smile on his lips. The smile adds a playful edge to the words that come once Jim’s done with leaving Sebastian hanging.

“If there’s a next time,” he says, eyes on Sebastian’s face again, “I won’t be so lenient.” 

It has the ring of a promise. Sebastian nods.

“No, Sir,” he agrees, “of course not.” His mouth still tastes like blood.

“Will there be a next time?” Jim wants to know, then, as curious as the last time he’d asked Sebastian about it. Just like the last time, Sebastian shakes his head even though he isn’t sure if he’s lying.

“No, Sir. There won’t.”

That earns him another gentle pat on the head, before Jim finally reaches over and around him to undo that belt, to free Sebastian’s hands. He rubs at his wrists and is allowed to do so for a minute before Jim tells him, casually now, “Get me a drink, Sebastian. Whiskey. And for god’s sake, go clean yourself up.”

Business as usual, then, Sebastian thinks as he rises, and thank fuck for that. He needs to get something done about his face.


End file.
